


Bruce and John venture out into Egypt on a side-quest League mission

by TaliaAlGhul



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics), Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 18:44:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20625776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaliaAlGhul/pseuds/TaliaAlGhul
Summary: Bruce Wayne ventures out into the plains of Egypt with the support of John Stewart in order to search for a certain Hawk-person imprisoned there





	Bruce and John venture out into Egypt on a side-quest League mission

**11:26am Khandaq, Egypt **

Decked out in a pair of Armani glasses, a custom-made Dormeuil Vanquish suit and tie, as well as a shiny pair of Swiss Bally men's shoes, Bruce Wayne tugged down the corners of his coat and straightened out his tie as he exited his bedroom into the lounging area of the royal suite at the Khandaq Marriott where both he and John had spent the night. Not intending to withhold any expense, he had requested the best room in the hotel, casino, which effectively meant the four bedroom penthouse suite with personal twenty four hour security detail. Perhaps a bit of an over-indulgence for the two men who wouldn't, by his estimate, be spending much time within the Marriott at all. Except the lavish splurge wasn't so much for them, but to proffer the image of wealth and power - knowing that it would certainly catch the attention of the Egyptian underground, drawing them out from their little hideaways in order that both Bruce and John might be able to play ball with them.

The light tinkle of hotel pipe in instrumentals was all that filled the room, not a sign of the Lantern exiting his room till that point, unless Bruce had missed him during the hours of the night. He stepped towards the silk linen dining table, picking up a perfectly polished fork that had been laid out in the eventuality the two men might decide on having their meals in their room. In doing so, they would dine in the lap of luxury, under the glittering chandelier, with a broad view of the balcony that overlooked the touristy region of Khandaq. Luxury shopping malls, a small air strip for private jets, a soaring landmark steeple that stood in the center of the square, a symbol of the city's pride as rentable Lamborghinis, Ferraris and BMWs with their hire-ready chauffeurs stood in wait to whisk the wealthy away to the pyramids for an excursion out in the sun.

With several movements of his hand, he hit an empty champagne glass with the fork that was in his hand, creating a light ringing sound with it. Expecting that the sound would reach John's ears, and draw him out of his room.

The Lantern exited his room looking mighty dapper in the suit that Bruce had his secretary pick out for him, bearing in mind the man's measurements. Candice did always have a good eye for such things, even though he didn't think she would have the slightest clue as to what they would be using it for. Better to be kept in the dark than to have yet another dragged into this clandestine world of vigilantism and the inconspicuous skirting of the law.

He smirked the moment he found Bruce there in the dining room, telling him that he was still getting used to seeing him in that manner - he would assume he meant to say "in that civilian persona". To no great surprise either. Bruce had taken great pains distinguishing one from the other, down to subtle gestures, and vocal intonations. If he had not decided to reveal himself to both Victor Stone and John Stewart, he didn't think they would come anywhere close to guessing. 

John, on the other hand, witnessed Bruce in his luxurious attire casually dining at the table placed neatly in the the middle of the dining room. He smirked, chuckling softly. "Gotta say, I'm still getting used to seeing you like this." He raised a hand slightly up and down, motioning to the outfit Bruce was in. He then took his place at a seat across from the billionaire, resting his arms on the table in front of him. "Was that clinging meant for me or a butler I don't know about?" He looked around the room jokingly.

"For you," he replied with a stiff smile that stretched in a straight line across his mouth - not one for anything too expressive. Without spreading further pleasantries, he got straight to business. "Once you are ready, we will go down to the lobby, engage with reporters - and I expect there to be a few. While we have cameras trained on us, request an attendance with Mahmoud Sidiki - one of the wealthiest and most influential men around these parts, who... from my intel, dabbles in a bit of everything in order to keep in the know-how. If there was a person to ask about the location of the falling ship, it would be him. We'll decide our next move after he has made his." He looked at the former marine, waiting for any sign of dissent, or query. "Do you have any questions for me before we begin?"

The Lantern shook his head, as he completely understood the plan as well as its stakes. "Nope. Sounds fool-proof, Bruce. I'm starting to see why you run things back at the Hall." He smirked as he stood up, crossing his arms waiting for the billionaire to stand up and lead the way.

Bruce smirked at his associate. Then put down the fork, then headed towards the exit. Placing his hands upon the gold plated door knob, surrounded by signature Egyptian hieroglyphics to proffer the image of the exotic. He didn't actually check up on those symbols, but he could only assume that they were for design-only, not to actually send a message. With a single sweep of his hand, pulled the door open, and stepped out onto the Arabian rug, that lined the outer corridor, all the way to the elevators. "I lead, because no one else will," he responded to the earlier comment as they walked side-by-side down the mirror lined hall. Their perfectly suited up, suave reflections following them in endless repetitions on both sides of the wall. 

"If I had it my way, I'd be back in Gotham, keeping vigil over its streets. But since I've begun to deal with the more... extra-terrestrial threats, people begin to assume that my place is here." He glanced over at his companion. "Honestly, I'd like to think that my place in the League is only temporary. That someone else will step up to the plate - someone a little less mortal." In a rare admission of vulnerability, Bruce Wayne wore a heavy expression more inclined towards his darker personality than the one he now donned, as he leaned over to press the down button while the elevator lights flickered with digital illumination on the wall a number that rose up from Level G right up to the 50th floor where they resided.

The Lantern stood in silence, surprised to hear Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy, be so vulnerable. Even knowing his caped crusader counterpart, he had always thought of Bruce Wayne as a man who thought highly of himself. Never did he expect to hear the man come down from his high-horse and expose his true emotions. Though ever since the identity reveal, John wondered if the playboy act was to confuse the general populous. For who could believe a man as self-centered as Bruce Wayne would risk his life for those on a different tax bracket than himself? 

The truth was no matter how much Bruce could hope to contribute to the League, he always struggled with the notion that his human vulnerabilities might be holding back the team; the clay feet in King Nebuchadnezzar's prophetic dream that caused the crumbling of a spectacular effigy. With Zod posing a threat to even the strongest man on earth, Bruce's internal fears hounded on him how he might be of any assistance to earth's defenses, or if he would ultimately let the team down - allowing earth to fall prey to invasion. 

Gotham, on the other hand, was familiar ground. Crime that was well within his means to stop - nothing of the super-human kind, or at least not at the level that the League was used to dealing with. Although another boisterous voice within his mind accused him of being a coward, preferring to stay within the realm of familiarity, even at the expense of others. Unfortunately, there really was no middle ground when it came to such matters. He was either in the League or he was not. And there wasn't going to be any room for regret.

John looked to Bruce as they approached the elevator, waiting for its arrival. "Yeah, I've heard from the others about your lone wolf personality. But for someone with so much goin' on upstairs," he pointed to his own head, "You have a talent for taking on more than you can handle and actually... well, handling it. I mean, hell, look who you're leading: a Kryptonian, the daughter of Zeus, the King of Atlantis... They don't care that you can't fly or control the seas, they follow you because you get the job done one way or another." The elevator arrived, announced by the sound of a ding and John stepped in with Bruce by his side. "Now, let's get this job one done." He smirked.

Bruce let out a stubborn cynical puff, as he shook his head slowly with upturned eyes, a smirk on his face as they entered into the elevator. With the shutting of doors behind them, the steel contraption soon commenced its journey down from fifty to one, air bubbles passing through the ears of the two men as the air pressure rose with their descent. He never thought that the Green Lantern would have a knack for pep talks, nor that he would be impelled to listen. But he proffered a more pedestrian perspective that the Batman had seldom paid attention to - having been so wrangled up with League concerns and missions that he had almost completely lost himself in the narrow view of work... drowning in every aspect of it, losing sight of what had been achieved up to that point.

But John Stewart saw it. And stated it very much as a matter-of-fact; stating without an inkling of doubt that the Batman had a talent for handling matters, and that the other Leaguers had come to have faith that he would do so. Did they? He asked himself. He supposed they did. Otherwise why would they entertain his many harebrained schemes, no matter how out of the realm of conventionality? The League trusted him, that thought echoed in his head, offering him some measure of comfort, in spite of the doubt that remained there. Alfred often accused him of overthinking things - this was likely such a scenario.

Regardless, there was a job to be done. A fallen ship to be found. His mind quickly transitioned back to work mode - setting a moratorium for all concerns that nagged in his mind; reasonable or ill-perceived.

The elevator doors opened, and Bruce Wayne, billionaire brat made an instant recrudesce. A thousand flashes of light filled the elevator and blinded them, but Bruce had come fully prepared. The Armani glasses placed upon the bridge of his nose to counter such an effect. Stepping out into the makeshift atrium of paparazzi with that signature billion-dollar smile, a hand raised in a cordial welcome, waving at the many reporters that clamored in flurried desperation to get the next shot, the next word. Anything to consume the media personnel that was Bruce Wayne. And he was having it. Pandering to all their desires. Anything to get the attention of a certain Egyptian mogul.

"Hello Khandaq, Egypt! Looking bright and beautiful here. Thank you for the warm welcome. I love this country!" he thundered out in a voice a few pitches higher than his typical Batman rasp. Then turned around to reach for his compatriot, drawing him quickly into the spotlight, that he might place John into the watchful gaze of the Egyptian underworld as well. "Let me introduce you to the man who will assist me on this wonderful journey through one of the world's most historical cities. Mr John Blake."

He hadn't exactly had the time to speak to John about the false name, but hoped that he was prepared to play along. The truth was that, there really was a John Blake who had a great likeness to Stewart's own appearance. Wealthy millionaire living in Metropolis, though rarely home - being a bit of a travel enthusiast. Goodness knew where in the world the real Blake was at the current time, but spending his time in the company of Bruce Wayne? No one would doubt that possibility might come to fruition.

___________________________

The hundred and one questions went on for the most part of two hours; ranging from the general running of Wayne Enterprises, queries about a certain business feud with a smaller firm who had made a claim on one of Wayne's newest technological products... unfounded though, and the company had exacted all the necessary paperwork to shift the case in their favor, down to the matters of his personal life. He mostly kept his replies light, as vague as he had been trained; providing enough information to satiate, yet not enough for the media to get a foothold and run wild with false speculations.

It was tiring to upkeep that smile, that false personality that bore little resemblance to the man he was inside. He seized the opportunity nevertheless, to discreetly study each face in the crowd. Attempting to suss if Sidiki's men were encircling the crowd... and just at a glance, he could already count at a minimum three sending cryptic signals to each other across the breadth of the lobby.

Bruce's mind had determined to set a bait over the duration of the interviews. And he did so by calling the journalists to attention at several points; insisting in repetition that he had heard wonders of Mahmoud Sidiki's great network of businesses in Egypt, and wished for nothing more than to meet up with this enigmatic man for tea. As predicted, one among the three plucked out a mobile phone from his coat pocket to send out a call to what he could presume to be Sidiki himself. Shooting occasional glances Bruce's way, of which he was careful to maintain a fairly oblivious look. Allowing the scene to be set in a manner that suggested that he hadn't the slightest clue what was going on with Sidiki's men. 

The moment the third man lowered his phone, Bruce rose from John Blake's side, stretching his arms wide as though he had quite enough with dealing with journalists and now wanted to rest. That was far from the truth though - his work was only just beginning. Excusing himself from the scene, directing all questions to Stewart in the form of Blake instead, he informed the crowd that he needed to grab a breath of fresh air. 

Reason being that Bruce had banked on being approached by one of Sidiki’s men, and he wasn’t let down. Two seconds after leaving the building, he found himself escorted by two large Middle-eastern men, their fingers wrapped around his arms as though they might pick him up and whisk him across the street. They wouldn’t, of course. For Bruce Wayne was not so much man, but a conglomerate of businesses and big American dollar. Something Sidiki wouldn’t be able to resist. “What is this? Where are you taking me!” Bruce blurted out in petulant offense, giving off a completely back and forth bewildered expression in spite of knowing full well where he was being taken. “How dare you treat me in such manner!”

“Did you not wish to speak to Sidiki?” spat one of the men, annoyed by the kerfuffle. Those who sought the elusive Egyptian magnate typically knew what it entailed, and the steps that would have been taken to facilitate the meeting under the veil of discretion. Mr Wayne, however, seemed to be blissfully unaware of any of it. Yelling for help from bystanders would only threaten the level of confidentiality involved. Or maybe it was just that American arrogance that more often than not, made his countrymen question if they were worth dealing with at all. Nobody could question the power of the greenback though.

“Oh yes,” Bruce’s expression shifted from contorted rage, to a sudden placid understanding of the situation. Allowing himself to be placed into a sleek tinted window Maserati limousine, the door shut behind him – and sped down the street in the company of strangers. A dark-skinned man with a well-trimmed beard crossed his legs on the seat facing his own. 

“Greetings Mr Wayne,” he said, revealing a row of pearly white teeth that shone in stark contrast to his velvety black skin. Gesturing towards a leather pocket in the car that had been constructed specifically to hold a bucket of ice, and within it, an alcoholic treat. “Nefertiti?” he asked, offering his guest a drink. “It’s the national beverage here.”

“Certainly…” Bruce responded, taking a quick peep out through the windows as the desert-land situated beyond Khandaq faded into view. Those lofty sand dunes and vast swabs of unlivable land remained very much the enigma to mankind. Beautiful and dangerous at the same time. The limousine tore through the mostly empty highway with some amount of rage; felt through the occasional lurches of slow-downs and speed-ups. Bruce was reminded that John Stewart had been left far behind him – a necessary part of the plan as Sidiki would never place trust in additional eyes that might point out his location in the desert. If the rumors of the man’s high level of privacy proved true, then those precautions he had taken would be put to the test. The tracker bug in the sole of his dress shoe sending his location directly to a device in the Lantern’s possession. 

That and nothing more.

A curvy glass with a chilled amber beverage was placed in Bruce’s hand as he offered his host a salute to the man’s homeland and the prospect of Wayne money being spent in the ancient nation. A bubbly reddish gold swiveling around and around as the luxury vehicle sped on through the barren sandscape, enroute to the secret lodging hidden among the hills.

It was in the midst of the Egyptian desert, about ten clicks away from the River Nile, that the ride finally arrived at a compound built around an oasis. High walls with well-guarded fences, barbed wire and cameras to capture every angle. When the dark-skinned man provided the means to enter into the compound, the interior rolled out before them in breathtakingly lush gardens with a huge myriad of flowers and marbled fountains that cascaded endless streams of water that one would typically not expect to find in the middle of a harsh desert. The drive in alone took a whole duration of five minutes as gardeners kept busy, weeding and watering the elaborate landscape. Smiling cordially to the passengers of the limousine as they passed – even though they likely lacked the visuals due to the deep tint of the glass itself.

At the end of the ride, Bruce Wayne stepped out onto a path that led him around a swimming pool surrounded by palm trees, partially obstructing the mansion beyond. He let out a whistle of awe to compliment the inhabitants of the house, though three security personnel surrounded him then. Patting him down for wires, cameras and other recording devices. If any were found on him, he could be certain that he would likely not live to see the next day. It was fortunate that they largely left his shoes unsearched before granting him approval to approach the mansion itself. Even though he had not touched the knob of the door, when the doors opened for him, revealing a rather portly Middle-Eastern man in silk robes, a lit cigar between his fingers. 

“Mr Wayne! So nice to meet you!” he greeted the billionaire with a warm extended hand, one that was met with equal aplomb from his guest. “My men heard that you had requested a meeting with me, and I said, ‘Why not this morning? I’m awake, nothing much planned for the day – and with you in town? I simply can’t pass on the opportunity to see the most infamous billionaire bachelor in person.’” Sidiki laughed heartily, laughter that Bruce himself reflected. The magnate waved him in, turning around to enter into the luxurious property. “’Come on in! Kick off your shoes and relax. My home is your home,’” he offered, quite generously. 

“I have to say Mr Sidiki, your hospitality is very much appreciated. And your home… simply spectacular. You’ve shown me a part of Egypt that won’t be lost to memory, but I don’t want to abuse that privilege, and I suppose you might be curious as to why I requested an audience with you?” The interior of the home saw Victorian elegance in grand sheen, lined with leather and velvet surfaces of couches, large exquisite art on the walls. A balcony that overlooked the pool and the rest of the gardens. Both men sat down on one of the many lounge chairs to carry out the rest of their conversation.

The Egyptian took a puff out of his cigar, released the breath in a puff of smoke, then turned back to Wayne. “Yes, the question did cross my mind. I would assume that you’d hoped to do business with me. And for that, may I state that I am equally keen. Wayne Enterprises is quite the company. Sidiki would be honored to be partners.”

Bruce let out a smile, then leaned forward as though he meant to relay a secret. Curious, Sidiki matched his posture, awaiting what he might hope to share with him in that mansion. “Good intel informs me that a plane fell from the sky and crashed not too far from here. We’ll keep the details between us, but that plane was American, and the pilot – an escaped experimental project that the government hopes to retrieve…” He nodded in Sidiki’s direction to search for indication that the Egyptian would keep all the details undisclosed. “Under the radar, of course.” An untruth, something that Bruce Wayne had become quite adept at. If living daily under false pretenses didn’t sharpen such skills in him, he didn’t know what would. 

Sidiki’s expression rose with investment, nodding quite readily in response. “Of course…” he repeated, and added on. “In a matter of fact, a few days ago I received word that there had been a crash out in the Libyan desert. And the pilot had been taken into captivity by a local sand tribe. Word among them speaks of a curse on the pilot – something about a mutation. Of wings?” he mentioned, scrunching up his face with curiosity. Wondering if the Americans were discreetly meddling with the prospect of flight.

“Ah wings, yes,” Wayne responded with an affirmative nod, as though he had expected Sidiki would say that. “That would be the experimental project. Let me just lay it all out - the American government is prepared make it worth your while if you could introduce me to this particular sand tribe, so that retrieval of the prototype might commence.” He rubbed his fingers together to the essence of money that would be there, should Sidiki oblige. 

Except Sidiki frowned slightly instead, his head tilted to the side. “Why does your government send you, a private business owner, to do their dirty work for them?”

“Private?” Wayne laughed, leaning back in his seat. His arms casually spread out over the back rest. “Mr Sidiki, in America, a corporation does not get to the magnitude that Wayne Enterprises operates at on a daily basis without direct dealings with the government. It’s a you-scratch-my-back-I-scratch-yours kind of deal… the beauty of capitalism.”

Sidiki spent a moment with an intense glare as he rolled the concept around in his head, only to break into laughter right after when he believed he finally understood what was being said. He wagged his index finger at Wayne, as though Wayne were a precocious delinquent that needed gentle chiding to set him straight. “Oh you Americans,” he berated through a sideways glance. “Your ways never cease to amaze me. I see how this works.”

“Indeed,” Wayne agreed, the smile large on his face. “Money talks, doesn’t it? I do this for them, and the company stands to benefit with other concessions… as a businessman, I expect you understand what I’m talking about without having to outline it in… blunt words.”

“Oh of course!” bellowed Sidiki with a deep base, amusement on his face. “We apply American benefits too for this pilot, no? I-scratch-your-back-you-scratch-mine?” he repeated what had been said by Wayne, hoping for a satisfying response.

Wayne responded with a laugh, “Ah Mr Sidiki, I see you’re learning fast. The American government plans to reimburse you in untraceable notes. You can go straight to spending it here for your home, for your business.”

Unfortunately, the Egyptian magnate shook his head, hoping to drive a harder bargain. “You want the pilot, I want a more sustainable business proposition. You’re a businessman, I want us both to do business. I take the money from your government, PLUS import, export of tramadol to your country.”

Bruce’s expression soured, it was nothing he was going to agree with. The opiate-like painkiller had surged ahead of heroin and made second only to cannabis in recent times. Having it run rampant in the Middle-East was one thing, but it wasn’t something he was prepared to bring into the States. He stood up, preparing to make a hasty departure. “I’m sorry Mr Sidiki, it’s clear I’ve wasted my time here. The terms were never meant to be negotiated on. The American government made that clear.”

“Oh oh oh, wait,” said Sidiki, still keen to make his offer work. “I will put money in your pocket Wayne. There’s a lot to be earned from tramadol export. You say you want the government to offer concessions, here is Egypt’s concession to you.”

“No deal,” insisted Wayne holding firm to his side of the bargain. He hadn’t returned to his seat, which only meant that he could walk away at any time. “Unmarked notes, or I walk. There are other roads to searching for the American craft, it’s up to you whether you want to profit from it. If I were you, I’d seize the opportunity while it stands.”

Sidiki’s expression fell, realizing that he hadn’t the bargaining chip that he had hoped for, and was beginning to see that Wayne had a point. “Alright, alright… I’ll take you to the sand tribe. I happen to know of an auction that will be taking place in two days. I’ll send men to pick you up at your hotel. They will bring you to this place. If anyone asks, just say you’re there on behalf of Mahmoud Sidiki, and they will let you pass. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Wayne replied, meeting the magnate in a shake. Two days more. He supposed he could spare the time.

\-------------------------------------------

**Fifteen minutes before pick up time**

Bruce paced the length of the suite, a short distance away from the luxury settee that John was seated on. It wasn't so much trepidation that sent the Batman to wear out a path in the carpet from his repeated steps - but a form of restlessness; a hundred and one scenarios playing in his head, all at once. Dealing with a fair amount of uncertainty would often drive him to more compulsive behavior... perhaps a form of madness. For oft he had begrudgingly admitted in the privacy of his mind, that it would take the insane to hunt the insane - and to that, conclude that he must be, in part, insane. But likely something a little more manageable than those who had descended to a life of criminality. His fingers twitched, even whilst he held them wound against each other, like a ball. And his gaze shot repeatedly towards the phone, expecting it to ring at any minute.

"So you understand the plan?" he questioned John, following a timely interval placed between his explanation and his present search for confirmation. "You will maintain a safe distance, though kept apprised through the radio in your ear. It's fortunate for us that some of the buyers at the auction are representatives of higher hands who do not grace such events with their actual presence. Therefore, we're allowed direct radio contact - although they wouldn't know that you'll be keeping vigil just along the fringes of the auction-house. If anything goes awry, I'll utter the code phrase: It's rather dry here, isn't it? And that's your cue to burst into the camp, drawing the attention to yourself. Otherwise it ought to be a simple flash-the-American-dollar-in-and-out-exchange - let's hope it is. Then we can all return to the States via boomtube. I've already got Cyborg on speed-dial in order to facilitate a speedier exit, should it be required."

"Understood," replied John, though a question continued to nag at him, beckoning him to speak. "Why are we going through all this trouble with the stealthy 007 routine? These guys are selling sentient beings! That breaks enough laws, of the earthly and intergalactic varieties. I would think that it would justify me going in on behalf of the Corps, and arresting all in question, including this Sidiki guy. For Pete's sake, tramadol... and you know he's going to a second buyer if you're not taking it."

Wayne cast a sideways glance at Stewart's apparent disregard of earth-based jurisdictional customs; questioning the problem arose from having spent too much time with the Corps, thereby having forgotten how such matters were handled here on earth. "Stewart," he called the man by his civilian title, his secrecy assured by the confines of their suite up at the top floor of Khandaq Marriott. "In order for the League to operate independently, and ungoverned by an overseeing committee, we've been stipulated to abide by certain laws upheld by the UN - which, in effect, restricts us from intervening in any nation's sovereign legislation. In fact our presence here in Egypt alone could very well be viewed as an intrusion. Any measure of recklessness on our part could spark an international incident, that could result in the end of the League. Why do you think I've insisted that we should enter into the ancient kingdom in our civilian forms?" He punctuated his lengthy statement with a pause, awaiting the Lantern to ingest what he had explained, and hopefully would no longer tussle with the same qualm.

"Besides, we don't exactly know if the alien is hostile, or what its agenda is here on earth. If Abdel Fattah el-Sisi isn't going to send a team to investigate such matters, or be open to information sharing with the members of the UN, then our best bet is to extract the alien species before any competing parties get their hands on it. And you can be assured that we aren't the only ones here in Khandaq, sniffing about the deserts to seize control of the alien. Causing a scene with Sidiki is only going to point them in the right direction, and grant them the advantage over us." He took a step closer to Stewart to press his point. "Need I remind you that Sidiki isn't the target here. Think what you will of the Egyptian magnate, we need him to lead us to this auction hidden out in the wilderness." Another pause, and the billionaire rendered an insistent glare at the Lantern. A glare that was not synonymous with Bruce Wayne, but the Batman himself. "Tell me that you will adhere to the plan. If I cannot get your full compliance, I'd much rather go in alone. Sure, I might be over my head, but one dead man in the sands of Egypt is better than the invocation of war between two major nations, as well as the likely dismantling of the League. So speak up, are you in or out?"

"I'm in, don't have to tell me twice," Stewart backed off, hands in front of himself to signify compliance. He wasn't there to cause any problems. It was a simple question, one that Batman didn't take too kindly to, and he could understand as well. Being held under such pressure to walk that fine line. "I'll be watching from afar."

A message flashed on Wayne's phone, straight from Sidiki's representative, signalling his arrival at the lobby. "Keep in touch," was all Wayne said to his League associate, and departed the hotel.


End file.
